


Sandpit Nightmare

by thevalesofanduin



Category: Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Action, Angst, Character Death, Dinosaurs, F/M, Gen, Lots of OC's, Military, a whole army platoon of it, it's a Jurassic fic what do you expect?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 20:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4363139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The soldiers in the Platoon had dubbed their Sahara military base Sandpit Nightmare early on in the tour. Sand everywhere, no civilization around, crappy food and temperatures rising up to over 40 degrees Celsius during the day and dropping to below 10 during the night. At least the showers were warm.</p><p>But after only two recon missions, Sandpit Nightmare had gotten a new ring to it as their Platoon grew smaller and smaller, the number of both injured and M.I.A. Privates rising.</p><p>Their enemy?</p><p>Something out of a nightmare. Or, apparently, a theme park.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandpit Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> My first Jurassic World fic... Exciting!
> 
> Also, any mistakes are my own. Be they spelling mistakes or research-related mistakes. I am not from the USA, I am not in an army so all of the titles and descriptions I used are researched. I hope I did an okay job but if there are any glaring mistakes feel free to educate me!
> 
> Other than that, I hope you enjoy my prequel of the Jurassic World sequel! <3

There’s noise on the line as he listens to the phone ring on the other side, elbows resting on the plastic foldable table and sweat on his brow from the humidity inside the sand colored camouflage tent.

There’s always noise on the line.

The techs might’ve gotten the surveillance systems to work without a hiccup but a stable line between the world’s biggest sandpit and DC was apparently too much to ask.

Priorities…

There’s a creak as his call is answered, followed by a soft and tired: “Hello?”

“Hey honey.” He smiles, soft and tender as he hears her voice, imagines her in the bed just waking up.

An intake of breath and he knows that she’s wide awake now. “Josh! Oh my gosh, it’s good to hear your voice.”

He smiles sadly at the longing in her tone, has the same feeling in his chest when he hears her voice. Her voice, which has now become a beacon of hope for him during this Godforsaken mission.

“I know, Marianne. I know.” His smile turns wry and he lets his eyes wander around the tent for a moment, over the soldiers gathered there. No more card-games, no more laughing. Just a bunch of antsy, nervous soldiers waiting for the next day.

He’s suddenly happy he decided not to give Marianne a video call. 

“Josh?” She’s hesitant, voice soft and he almost sees her fidget with the comforter. “Is everything okay? You sound… off.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, the question breaking his heart. _Why?_ He thinks, almost angrily. _Why must she ask now?_

He pushes a hand against his forehead, lets out a barely audible sigh and with tears in his eyes and regret in his heart, he lies: “Fine, honey. Everything is fine.”

Ramona, sitting to his right and waiting for him to finish with the phone, huffs at his lie.

He shoots her a glare and flips her off, thinking if she were on the phone with her girlfriend she’d say the same. 

“In fact, I’ve got some good news. We’re starting an OP tomorrow and if that’s successful, we’re done here.” He says, tries to sound cheerful and happy. Tries not to sound as nervous and frightened as Ramona suddenly looks.

“Does that mean…?” Marianne gasps.

“Yeah.”

Marianne whoops and cheers on the other side of the line but all Josh can do is drag a hand down his face and share a sad look with Ramona.

\---

It’s searing hot out in the sun.

So hot that the heat wafts off of the yellow-gold Sahara sand like mist on a lake.

Before being deployed to Camp Hoskins Josh had _known_ the Sahara could be hot. But damn, there’s nothing like standing on a pile of sand with a scorching breeze and a burning sun shining down on you.

 

Camp Hoskins, they’d dubbed it Sandpit Nightmare early on in the tour.

Sand _everywhere_ , no civilization around, crappy food and temperatures rising up to over 40 degrees Celsius during the day and dropping to below 10 during the night. At least the showers were warm.

But after only two recon missions, Sandpit Nightmare had gotten a new ring to it. A bone-deep terrifying ring.

The first recon had gone without a hitch. They hadn’t found anything except for a constant feeling of unease, kept on their toes by _something_ they couldn’t see but made the little hairs on their neck rise all the same.

Then squads Alpha and Charlie had gone on their second recon. Squad Alpha to scout the south-east perimeter of a nearby abandoned town, squad Charlie the north-west. Alpha had returned complete and unharmed with no news. Charlie had returned, but no-one dared to question _how_. Three men short and unable to explain how their fellow soldiers had seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth, leaving guns and helmets behind.

Charlie’s Staff Sergeant, Ramona Farley, had demanded to know _what the hell is out there_! Everyone had held their breaths as she’d almost _yelled_ at their platoon leader – Second Lieutenant Rowley. Rowley had shared a look with Adam Gonzalez, their platoon’s Sergeant First Class, before ordering Ramona to stand down. She’d deflated straight away, the anger of having lost three of her team turning into sadness.

The incident was reported back to DC with the _urgent_ request for more background information on this tour, if available. The only answer returning was a professionally phrased “fuck you” promising that “there is no immediate danger” to be worried about.

No-one in the camp had dared to call bull-shit, not even Staff Sergeant Farley. But everyone _knew_ something was wrong.

Which was why for the third recon, Rowley ordered cameras to be placed on all Desert Patrol Vehicles. 

Josh, as the radio-telephone operator, had been put in charge of a surveillance team, put together solely for the purpose of a sense of safety, of knowing that back at HQ, someone had your back.

It hadn’t helped.

Josh and privates McMillan and Hughes had watched the computer screens, put up one of the tents at HQ as squad Bravo and Echo were sent out on recon. They’d watched every _fucking_ second the squads were out there and they’d seen nothing pass by the DPV’s cameras.

At least, nothing that could explain the disappearance of another four men.

They’d _heard_ though. Heard how Bravo’s Staff Sergeant, Marco Reece, had called for immediate back-up from the Echo squad. How he’d hollered there were another two men down.

“What the fuck is –” there’d been an abrupt end of speech, a noise that was a growl and screech at once – an inhuman noise – and an urgent whisper: “Morris, on my go we run.”

Heavy, uncontrolled breathing echoed through Josh’s headset, the croaking growls of _something_ getting closer to the Staff Sergeant and private Morris. 

“In case we don’t make it.” Reece’s whispered words shook as he addressed the three soldiers listening in from the camp. “Tell DC that that thing on the other side of the wall _isn’t_ human.”

For a moment, no-one dared to speak. At HQ, confusion settled in while in the field, Reece and Morris were terrified.

“Run!” Reece suddenly hollered.

In the tent, privates McMillan and Hughes held their breaths, staring at the screens as if they could see anything. 

A whimper suddenly echoed through their headsets. “It’s following us!”

“I know Morris, run!”

“We’re never going to survi–” Morris stopped mid-sentence, a deafening scream leaving his lips.

“Morris, private Morris!” Reece hollered and then, a terror in his voice Josh has never heard before, demanded: “Where is Echo!?”

Josh needed a moment to take a breath, to try and _not_ freak out. He closed his eyes for a moment, pinched the bridge of his nose and then turned to the two privates sitting next to him, under his command. “McMillan, get the Sergeant and Lieutenant in here!” 

He didn’t watch if McMillan obeyed before switching his com to Echo’s frequency. “Staff Sergeant Choate, what’s your location?”

“Almost there, private.” Choate replied, voice calm and steady which felt oddly re-assuring in the wake of the disaster they’d just heard. “What’s Bravo’s status?”

At that moment, Sergeant First Class Gonzales waltzed into the tent. His eyes were trained on the screens straight away, pausing to give Josh the time to answer Choate.

“Staff Sergeant Morris is –” Josh started but faltered when, on the screen on the far left, the DVP camera caught something. 

Someone.

Staff Sergeant Morris had tripped and taken a tumble to the ground.

Josh held his breath.

Gonzales grabbed a free headset and demanded: “Staff Sergeant Morris, what’s your status!”

“Private?” Choate demanded impatiently.

Josh opened his mouth to reply when suddenly, Morris was _dragged_ from view by something outside of the range of the camera. Josh didn’t hear him scream, but he _saw_ on the man’s face. A terror that made him freeze, made bile rise in his mouth and chilled him to the bone.

“Oh no.” He whispered. “No, no, no.”

“Private, what the fuck is going on there!?”

Gonzales switched frequencies upon Josh’s forlorn expression. “Staff Sergeant Choate, I need a moment with Private Odle. Stand down and wait for further orders.”

“Sir!”

Josh, with trembling hands, slid his headset down to his neck and looked up at Gonzales with wide eyes. “S-sir,”

Gonzales put a hand on Josh’s shoulder, a comforting gesture and, almost as if dealing with a wounded animal, softly and gently demanded: “What happened, private?”

“We didn’t _see_ anything.” Was the first thing Josh got out. Then, after taking a shuddering breath, he reported to Gonzales.

Halfway through his explanation, Second Lieutenant Rowley joined them. After, Gonzales and Rowley decide to have Echo do a quick scout for survivors.

Josh had a bad feeling about it, as did everyone else. But they simply could not leave anyone out there for dead.

Choate led his squad with caution, made sure they were split into three three-men teams while scouting for survivors.

They found two privates, heavily bleeding and _missing fucking limbs._

To Josh, and everyone in the tent, it was at least a relief. Two out of the three teams were now back at the DVP’s and Rowley gave Choate the order to return to the Camp.

“Abort, abort!” Someone suddenly screeched. Someone from the last team still out searching for survivors. “Get back to the DVP and save yourself! That thing is – oh God, no, no, aaah!”

“Choate, get the hell back to HQ!” Rowley ordered.

“With all due respect, Sir, I am not about to leave my men behind.”

“You will.” Rowley stated, voice calm and demanding.

_Lieutenant’s orders._

And when the Lieutenant ordered, _everyone_ obeyed.

What returned from the mission was pure chaos. A mess of confused, hurt and angry men and women that were all still high on the adrenaline of what had just happened.

Later that night, after the incident had been called in to DC, the order came. The wounded would be immediately loaded into a chopper, flown to the nearest airport and would from there be brought back to DC. Apparently, Josh heard later through the rumor mill, Second Lieutenant Rowley had stated the soldiers were yet to be debriefed. They could leave after – after they’d figured out what the fuck had happened, _what_ was out there, hunting them. DC had been very clear, though. No-one was to debrief the soldiers unless it happened back on American soil.

It only meant one thing.

No-one at Camp Hoskins was to know _what_ was killing their fellow soldiers.

 

Now, three days later, what’s left of the platoon – 27 out of 42 soldiers – is assembled at the flagpole standing in the middle of the camp. The American flag is waving in the wind above them almost mockingly.

“Today’s the start of our last recon mission,” Second Lieutenant Rowley addresses the soldiers in front of him. He’s always been a cheerful man, has always inspired soldiers with his optimistic words. But not today. Now, he looks angry, resentful even.

It’s easy for everyone else to feel the same.

“We’ve been dragged through hell and back. Lost many good men to something we don’t even understand. But today we’ll find out. Today we’ll go out there and kick its ass! To hell with recon, today, we are getting revenge!”

The cheering starts and without thinking of the consequences of disobeying DC’s orders, Josh throws a fist in the air and cries revenge – just like everyone else.

 

An hour later the convoy of DPV’s and RG-33s departs with Sergeant First Class Gonzales taking the lead.

At HQ, everyone from the cook to Second Lieutenant Rowley has gathered in the communications tent. Josh and the Second Lieutenant are sitting in front of the screens, watching intently for movement of any kind while everyone else tries to catch a glimpse from over their shoulders.

Josh has never felt an adrenaline like this course through his body, a fear that runs so deep he’s just chosen to ignore it all together. Instead he lets his eyes wander from screen to screen, trying to catch a sign of their enemy.

After fifteen minutes the soldiers have arrived at the abandoned town and nothing other than sand and stone has been sighted.

Half an hour and still nothing.

An hour and Josh is thinking of giving up hope. Of course, now that they’re trying to catch whatever’s been hunting them it won’t come out.

Figures.

His attention, however, never wavers and his heart remains in his throat.

Then, movement on the left screen.

Just a quick flash of _something_ that Josh hadn’t quite caught. 

He pushes his nose almost into the screen, trying to catch another glimpse of whatever’s just happened. It’s unnerving, knowing his fellow soldiers are in danger and he’s just sitting here. It makes him wish he could see something – anything – so he could at least report.

Another quick flash of something on the screen but this time Josh catches a lizard-like tail. He doesn’t breathe, can’t even _swallow_ and just for his own sake he blinks. And blinks again.

It can’t be… He must’ve gone insane!

But then, what else can it be? He thinks and the softest whisper passes his lips without him even realizing it. “No shit.”

“Private?” Second Lieutenant Rowley asks and for a moment it seems as if everyone in the tent holds their breath. “Did you see something?”

“I am not sure.”

“You are not sure if you saw something?” The Lieutenant demands and Josh doesn’t need to look at his face to know he’s frowning.

As if on cue to prove Josh isn’t insane – although dear God does he wish he was! – that same _thing_ swishes through screen again.

Slower, this time.

Closer too.

And everyone sees it.

“What the fuck.” Second Lieutenant Rowley manages with a strained voice.

Josh’s hands tremble and even under the flush of the heat in the tent he’s gone pale, feels cold. Instinct takes over – because surely his brain isn’t functioning anymore – and he switches on his com. 

“Sergeant, we have a visual.” He musters, voice calm, collected and he’s so _terrified_ that he’s over his fear.

Fancy that.

“Finally. What does our enemy look like?” Sergeant Gonzales sounds relieved and impatient.

Josh can’t help but hesitate before he reports. Not out of fear but with the sheer fact in mind his Sergeant might not believe him.

He wouldn’t have, if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

“It’s… I only saw the end of it, Sir. A lizard’s tail.”

“A what now?” The Sergeant First Class almost laughs in his obvious annoyance at the news. “Don’t mess with me, private.”

“He’s not, Adam.” Rowley states and it’s a proof of his utter shock and horror that he’s addressing Gonzales by his first name. “I can confirm the visual.”

“Of fucking what? A lizard’s tail?”

Josh swallows hard, glances up at Rowley with wide eyes. Rowley is pale, eyes staring straight at the screens in front of them.

“Yes, that is what it looks like.” Second Lieutenant Rowley grunts through clenched teeth.

For a few breathless, almost terrifying seconds there is complete silence on the line, only the rumble of soldiers audible on Gonzales’ side.

“Do it.” Rowley commands suddenly, leaning heavily onto the desk and staring at the screen still. 

_Do what?!_ Josh thinks in a moment of panic, thinking he’s misunderstood his Lieutenant’s orders.

“Copy that,” The Sergeant replies.

For a second, Josh is relieved it wasn’t _him_ the order was for. Then, however, his eyes widen. If Rowley is ordering Gonzales, it’s bad. Like, worst case scenario if only two words are needed.

As Josh is praying to God that this isn’t going to end in everyone’s deaths, Gonzales orders his soldiers to gather.

“All right men, I never thought I’d ever give an order like this…” Gonzales’ voice is loud, strong and doesn’t show any sign of fear. “It it moves, shoot it. And for fuck’s sake, watch your six!”

The apprehensive agreement is a soft murmur through Gonzales’ com but the squad resumes their recon through the city regardless.

It’s breathless moments for Josh and the others in the tent, waiting and waiting while watching the screens. Praying to see anything on them because that would mean that their attacker would be there and not right behind their fellow soldiers.

Life, he finds out seconds later, doesn’t work that way.

 

Screaming, shooting, it’s the same as the day before only worse.

Josh’s hands shake and he’s ready to rip the headset off, to _not_ have to helplessly sit here listening to the fight anymore.

The slaughter.

Then there’s that same screeching growl from yesterday. The low, somewhat clicking growl that could be a roar.

The sound sends chills down Josh’s spine, makes his stomach turn and the numb feeling of absolute terror that settles in his body won’t ever go away again.

He knew he’d heard that noise before.

For a split-second, his mind jumps back to huge wooden doors opening, a monotone female voice echoing through his mind over and over again.

_Welcome to Jurassic World._

 

It takes a mere few minutes before all the screaming, shooting and growling stops.

A blink of an eye and Josh knows there’s no-one left.

“Sir?” He asks his Lieutenant. Because if he at least gets an order now, he can do something. Pretend he didn’t just hear their entire platoon be slaughtered by something out of a nightmare – or, apparently, a theme park.

Second Lieutenant Rowley’s eyes are fixated on the screens, his voice eerily steady as he orders: “Send word to DC and ask for immediate evacuation. I want to get all of us out of here before that thing knows where to find us.”

“Yes Sir!” Josh is off immediately to make the call but in his gut he knows no evac will come.

Or at least, not on time.

\---

It’s dark, the bedroom only lit by the light of a streetlamp, filtering in through the dark-grey curtains, and the red glow of the alarm clock on one of the night-stands.

03.47

On the bed, under a thin sheet – it _is_ summer, after all – sleep a man and a woman – he as straight as a plank while she takes up the other two thirds of the bed _and_ all the blankets.

A phone buzzes. Keeps going and going until the call goes to voicemail. By that time, the two on the bed have woken.

She blinks drowsily, huffs happily when the noise stops and closes her eyes again.

He startles out of his reverie, gasps and sits up straight to hastily and almost fearfully glance around the room.

For a moment, only his harsh breathing is audible in the room.

Then, the woman turns around, facing him yet the rustling of the sheets doesn’t seem to faze him. “Owen,” she sighs, but she’s not exasperated. Instead she’s gentle, her eyes tired and still lingering with sleep but she places a worried hand on his arm nonetheless. 

He startles at the sudden – but not unexpected – touch. Her warm hand, her heart-wrenching worry and her familiar gentleness grounding him to the here and now. “Claire,” he returns, his voice steady and almost teasing. He reaches out a hand, finds her small, delicate hand on his arm and intertwines their fingers – her skin warm and soft, his cold yet sweaty.

They share a smile, small and secretive and just like that, they’re okay again.

 

Within five minutes the phone buzzes again.

Owen freezes at first but after a few seconds relaxes, breathing out a sigh.

Claire sighs too before murmuring: “Owen, pick up your phone.”

He huffs a laugh. “Just because you want to sleep.”

“Of course.” She states matter-of-factly, even while half asleep.

He rolls his eyes at her with an affectionate smile. When he grabs the phone and sees the Unknown Caller ID, his smile turns into a frown. He picks up muttering: “This better be important.”

“Good night, Mr. Grady. This is General Sloan from the U.S. Army.”

Owen’s eyes widen and he immediately sits up, back straight as if the General can see him. For a moment, he wishes he’d picked up differently. But then again he isn’t in the Navy anymore so the General _is_ interrupting his night.

“Apologies for the inconvenient time of this call, but the United States of America urgently need your expertise.”

Owen frowns, an unsettling feeling in his stomach. “My expertise, Sir?”

Claire turns while he speaks and she sits up, a worried glance in her eyes.

“We have lost an entire platoon at Camp Hoskins in the Sahara desert.”

“Camp Hoskins?” Own huffs in disgust. Of course the U.S. Army would name military base after that bastard.

General Sloan gracefully ignores Owen’s outburst. “The only description of the enemy being a lizard’s tail.” Here, he hesitates. “Now before all that Jurassic crap, I might’ve declared my men insane.”

“Raptors.” Owen breathes and feels cold suddenly. _Terrified._

Claire gasps. “What? Owen!” She’s gone pale and she’s clenching the sheets in an unstable hand.

He reaches out his free hand and places it atop of hers. Re-assuring her. Anchoring her.

And himself.

The General sighs. “Most likely. Which is why we need _you_ , Mr. Grady. A car will pick you up at your home address at oh-seven-hundred today.”

He wants to object, to argue, to shout that oh-no, he is _not_ going to deal with this shit again!

Won’t let Claire deal with this shit again…

Haven’t they _ruined_ enough? Didn’t they save at good portion of Jurassic World visitors? Haven’t they done _enough_!?

“The American people owe you, Mr Grady. Good night.” The General hangs up without waiting for a reply.

Owen drops the phone onto the mattress and just sits there for a few moments. He’s holding Claire’s hand as much as she is holding his.

Then he turns to her and their eyes catch.

They’ve been through this once together.

Now, he doesn’t need any words. She _understands_. And from the goose bumps on her arms and the hitch of her breath, she is as terrified as he is.

_Camp Hoskins_

Owen takes a stuttering breath to try and control his anger and clenches his free hand into a fist. “That son of a bitch.”


End file.
